'When the plant was built there really was no debate'

David Lasalle chuckled as he reeled in his fishing line after lunch yesterday and tossed a chunky sea bass into his coolbox. "Grilled sea bass for dinner," he boasted to fellow fishermen.

But his favourite meal comes with a twist - Mr Lasalle fishes outside France's largest civil nuclear power plant, where warm water from the cooling towers attracts a steady supply of fat and sleepy bass.

"This is a great place to fish," he said as he cast his line into the waters running into the English Channel at Gravelines, half way between Calais and Dunkirk. "The water is 10C degrees warmer than normal, which means there is a great supply of sea bass."

He dismissed fears about fishing in potentially irradiated waters. "I have been fishing here for 10 years and catch excellent sea bass. I am absolutely confident that this is safe."

Mr Lasalle epitomises France's attitude to nuclear power. Unlike Britain, where Tony Blair faces major opposition to the extension of nuclear power, France veers between indifference and enthusiasm for the world's most controversial source of energy.

With few natural resources of its own, France decided after the 1973 oil crisis to embark on the world's biggest programme of civil nuclear power plants. France now has 56 nuclear reactors. Built by Areva, the state utility company which is offering to come to Britain's rescue, the plants generate up to 80% of France's electricity supplies.

In the early 1970s, the government slogan "France doesn't have oil, but it has ideas," persuaded the French that nuclear power would make the country less dependent on foreign energy.

People living in the shadow of the Gravelines plant, whose six reactors generate about 8% of France's electricity needs, still accept this bargain.

"Why should we be scared?" asked Patrick Farasyn, as he pushed his children on the swing in his garden a few hundred metres from the plant. "There are risks wherever you live."

His son, Jeremy, 11, enjoys the cachet that goes with living in the house that is closest to the plant. "There might be an explosion," he joked as he played football with a friend.

The plant dominates the picturesque town, whose cobbled streets and 18th-century walls make it a popular tourist destination.

"The first thing visitors want to see are the walls and then they ask about the nuclear plant," said Dolores Thery, who runs the town's tourist office. "Sadly, they can't visit it any longer because the plant was closed to visitors for security reasons after the September 11 attacks in New York."

The open-door policy of the French nuclear plants before 9/11 is still remembered by locals. "I remember when the plant was built and I have totally accepted it," said Rosita Dewitte as she walked her dog on the beach in front of the plant. "I do not worry at all. But then, if anything went wrong it would be too late to do anything."

Mme Dewitte, whose husband used to work at the plant, says French people accept the need for nuclear energy. "There is no debate in France. When the plant was built there really was no debate. We are confident that French technology is good and we will not have a Chernobyl-style accident here."

Locals demonstrate their confidence by barely batting an eyelid at a lucrative offshoot of the power plant. Water from the cooling towers is diverted into rows of tanks at a fish farm in the grounds of the nuclear plant run by Aquanord. "The warm waters are perfect for rearing sea bream," a worker said.